Page 120 of The Americana Playbook

“It is if you consider football to be soccer,” Fitz points out.

I giggle, reaching out to the cool, empty space beside me. “I miss you too. I didn’t tell you that before.”

I don’t say that I miss the bits of Fitz I didn’t even notice fully until he left, like his sneakers by the door, or the keys to his truck on the table in the entry, the first clues that he was home when I entered the apartment. The shampoo bottle in the bathroom stands the right way up, not upside down as he leaves it. There’s less laundry, but more food in the cabinets, some sort of imbalance and I frown because I didn’t realize the balance I had at home with him.

And, of course, there’s more room in bed, which, as someone who has slept on a twin-sized mattress for so long, is something I should appreciate.

I don’t. I prefer the few days when my knee would knock into his at night, when he’d roll over and drape a thick arm over my waist. I miss the kisses—the softest, most innocent ones, and the ones when we both tested the boundaries.

Bringing my hand up, I trace my lips.

“Did you fall asleep?” I ask.

“No. I’m just relaxed knowing you’re there,” Fitz says. “Safe at home in our bed.”

Our beddoes something to me.

“It’s lonely without you,” I admit, shutting my eyes.

“Scoot over then.” Fitz hums. “Pretend I’m there.”

My eyes fling open.

He jokingly adds in a deep voice, “I know you’re on my side anyway.”

Any hope I had plummets. “It does smell like you. I haven’t changed the sheets yet.”

“Do you know my favorite smell?”

“What?” I ask.

Fitz’s voice dips lower. “You. On my skin. Every morning when I got out of bed last week, I smelled you on me. Drives me wild.”

I shut my eyes. “I know that feeling.”

“I bet there’s something youdon’tknow.”

Leaning back, I rest my hand on my lower stomach. “Try me.”

“I’m touching myself.”

I bite down on my lip to keep in the whimper. “ButIwant to touch you.”

“How?”

“So many ways,” I begin. My fingers twitch against my stomach, and I pull up Fitz’s sweatshirt I’ve paired with only underwear.

“Like I’m touching myself now?” Fitz asks. “Do you want to stroke me, Parker?”

“Yes,” I breathe out, shutting my eyes. “I loved how you felt in my hand. Thick. Warm.”

Fitz takes a deep breath. “Fuck.”

My fingertips brush the elastic and slip under, and I shiver when I find my clit swollen and aching. I’m tingling from head to toe as I begin to trace lazy, firm circles around it.

“Tell me. Tell me what you’d do. Would you get on your knees for me?”

Tucking the phone against my ear, I drag my now free hand to my chest. “Yes.”

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